Robots keep calling me on the phone. They are such nice young robots. Worried about my financial well-being. In this economy, as they point out, I might need some help. In this economy, they believe, I might need to refinance my house. In this economy, they politely explain, I should call them absolutely right away immediately.
I would thank the robots. Tell them not to worry. That I’m doing OK. But were I to pick up the phone I would be sending my voice, filled with my feelings of fondness, down a long tunnel of bits and bytes and wires and cables and switches and I do not think the robots would actually ever hear me.
So I don’t pick up the phone, despite their good intentions. Sorry all you nice robots. If I have been wrong about your sentience, please accept my apologies.